


Steep Climb

by smallredboy



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Autistic Jason, Bar & Bat Mitzvah, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Innocence, POV Jason (Falsettos), hinted at bi jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 06:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16697560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Jason, during Whizzer's death and after.





	Steep Climb

**Author's Note:**

> written for fan-flashworks' challenge 245: mountain. fills the 'corpses / skeletons / remains' square in my gen prompt bingo card, and the 'loss of innocence' square in my trope bingo card. i liked writing this, I Love Suffering.
> 
> enjoy!

Jason finishes reciting the Hebrew he's learned for months, and then Whizzer puts his hand on his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Whizzer whispers, voice hoarse, and then he collapses against Jason's dad. Everyone rushes towards him, and suddenly the room is filled to the brim with the smell of death. 

His dad holds Whizzer up, nose wrinkled and his eyes wide. He prayed for this to not happen, for a miracle to happen, and instead, instead—

“No,” he sobs out, pulling away and running to the bathroom. Clean, fresh air welcomes him, and his head spins as he holds onto one of the sinks. He can see his kippah threatening to fall over with how he's leaning down. 

Whizzer is—

Nausea overcomes him and he throws up in the sink, some of it getting on the mirror. He can't deal with the thought, much less the reality. It's too much to deal with, too much to think about. 

He cries softly, his mouth feeling like it's rotting because of the vomit, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

He knows what's going on in the room they were holding his bar mitzvah in. He knows Marvin is holding onto Whizzer's body, trying his best to ignore the smell, begging for him to come back, begging for him to be there, alive, smiling, happy.

Jason has always been anxiously waiting for his bar mitzvah. Has always wanted to be considered a man, a man, more than a boy. But being a man means seeing so many terrible things… like seeing Whizzer, Whizzer dead on his hospital bed. 

Cordelia gets to the bathroom after a few minutes, and she hugs him from behind. She makes a good job at seeming like this doesn't affect her— the only hint to her shock and grief is her slightly runny eyeliner. 

Jason turns and holds onto her, sobs into her neck. “He's— he's…”

She shushes him, holds him against herself, breathes praises and nonsense like he's a baby to be coddled. A few minutes ago he was almost a man. “It's all going to be alright, honey.”

“It’s not!” Jason yells. “It's not, he's— he's dead! M-my best friend is d-dead! I don't— nothing’s gonna be alright ever a-again!”

He takes his kippah out and pulls it into his pocket, running out of the hospital. He wonders if the people who see him wonder where's this boy going— tallit still on him, just bar mitzvahed, and running away. What could've possibly happened? they ask in their heads. Too much to deal with— too much.

He runs all the way home, his head pounding and him gasping for breath. He collapses as soon as he gets to the door— he doesn't have the key. He pants against the wood, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pulls the tallit off his shoulders. 

He doesn't know how much it takes. The sun moves westward, but eventually, they're all walking to the house. Mendel has a hand on his dad's side, keeping him steady. His mom is leaning against his dad, and Charlotte and Cordelia are holding hands so tightly they could break the other's like that. 

“Kid,” his dad sobs out, kneeling in front of him. He hugs him, tight, and they sob into each other, holding onto each other as if they're all they have left. 

“Where—” he says, shakily. “Where is he?”

“They're dealing with…” his mom whispers, her hands shaking. “With his— his corpse right now. Th-they'll bury him in a few days.”

Bury. 

Jason starts shaking again and holds onto his dad, sobbing into his chest. He cries into his son's hair, his hands on his back. 

The next few days are desolate. He doesn't go to school, and he's told he can go back in the nebulous date of ‘whenever he's ready’. Mendel schedules therapy appointments with a nice Jewish woman which he's too tired to go to. 

The first time, he opens by saying the world is cruel. 

The second time, he says he's been thinking he likes boys. There's a boy that before all this made his mouth dry, made him stare at his eyes. 

The third time, he says he doesn't want to like boys. Because liking boys means ending up like his dad's lover. 

Two weeks and two days after his bar mitzvah— he's been keeping count— his dad begs him to go visit Whizzer's grave. They went to the funeral, but Jason couldn't deal with it. Whizzer's family wasn’t going to be there, except for his Jewish father and aunt, and he couldn't deal with seeing Whizzer be buried. 

He blinks numbly and nods, recoiling when his dad puts a hand on his shoulder. He pulls away afterward, and whispers for no one to touch Jason. 

He looks through his various chess sets, different boards, and pieces. He takes the prettiest white king, cleans it with a washcloth, before heading there. He rocks on his seat, focuses on the love ballads playing on the radio. His mom usually plays pop— the grief is too much for that. 

He gets out of the car, and it's eerily silent. He reads the gravestone— Whizzer Brown, then his date of birth and date of death. Two weeks and two days ever since he took his last breath. 

Jason takes the king out of his pocket, puts it on his left hand. 

He puts the king on the tombstone, and he's too numb to cry. He looks at the dates, and at how short life is, and how cruel the world is. 

He heads back to the car and sinks into his seat. 

“I love you,” his mom tells him while turning the car back on. 

“We love you,” Mendel says. 

He nods and starts rocking back and forth again. 

* * *

A month after the bar mitzvah, his dad shows him something he found: a note tucked under Whizzer's hospital bed pillow. He takes it with shaking hands and opens it.

His gaze scans over the words, tears fill his eyes. 

“You never told me he wrote poetry,” he whispers. 

His dad offers him his hand, and he immediately holds it. He smiles weakly, falsely. 

“I didn't know.”

When he has therapy again, he says that death is a little mountain to climb if you're the one dying. But for mourners, it’s the steepest mountain you've ever seen. 


End file.
